RUN
by Maz101
Summary: A Flack one-shot cos we need more Don drama and heroism . Not much exposition, character interaction or dialogue, but LOTS of running!


**Summary:** Simply a Flack one-shot. Not a lot of exposition, character interaction or dialogue but plenty of running. I'm aiming for breathless!

**A/N:** 'Cos we need more Don drama and heroism – consider it an experiment in momentum and action.

**Disclaimer:** Nope, I lay no claims whatsoever.

**RUN**

By the time he reached the roof top, Mendez was already dragging the little girl away. Flack caught just a glimpse of her wide terrified eyes before the door slammed closed in front of him, sealing off his route to follow.

Spinning around he raced across the black surface, dodging around the air conditioning vents that rose up, shining like some kind of modern art installation, vaulting over the criss-crossing water pipes. Reaching the fire-escape he launched himself down, feet barely connecting with the rungs as he gripped the rails and leapt from landing to landing, chased by the certainty that Mendez was also travelling downwards but in an elevator that went so much quicker than he could. He needed help.

"This is Detective Flack... badge 8571... I have a child abduction in progress...127 Stanton...in need of assistance." Control crackled acknowledgement as he clicked the radio off and tucked it away to give him back the use of both hands.

The staircase and walkways zig-zagged down the side of the building and shook as he clattered down, cutting the corners by jumping over them. Four turns in and he glanced below to see the flashing blue and red lights of a familiar car pulling into the the alley at the back of the building but he had no time to stop as, from the opposite end, a battered red van appeared and accelerated forwards with a roar.

From his birds' eye view above, Flack watched as the two vehicles headed towards each other, as though in a macabre game of death dare. He froze then in his desperate descent, grasping the iron rail in white knuckled horror, as the black CSI Suburban was forced to veer suddenly and violently to the left, riding up over a spilling pile of garbage stacked high against the opposite building and flipping onto its side, sliding in a scream of metal and glass to crash into a dumpster. The red van swerved to its left to avoid the collision, screeching along the alley wall before continuing on.

Startled into renewed action and with two storeys left, Don reached the last ladder and bounced his weight down to start its slide. Nothing happened. The city was full of these ancient, dilapidated and rusted escape routes and Don, like most New Yorkers, had little trust in them, but right now this was his only way down and with a shout of angry frustration he bounced again, hard. This time, with a rattle of protest against its own decay, the ladder released and Don rode it to the ground, leaping away before it settled and racing towards the overturned vehicle.

Sliding to a halt in the grime and glass fragments, like a desperate ninth innings batsman reaching for third base safety, Don dipped under the still spinning front wheel and leaned down to peer into the broken windscreen. Hawkes glared out. A trickle of blood was sneaking slowly down his brow as he struggled to right himself but, even as Don opened his mouth to shout his concern, Hawkes was waving him away with urgent gestures..

"Go! Go! I'm OK! Go!"

Don was up and off before Hawkes finished the order, grabbing his weapon from the holster on his belt as he saw the red van's tail lights disappearing left, beyond the wall and the fence that separated this alley from the next.

It wasn't too late. If he could keep a visual on the vehicle they might still save the girl.

Thirty seconds behind, he reached the fence and grabbed a hold of the mesh to pivot himself around, steadying himself just enough to risk a shot. Pausing only to brace his legs wide, he aimed for the back tyres but knew he'd missed by the ping of a ricochet against brickwork. As the van slewed left once again, he just had time to register a flash of bright white from its open driver's window before a searing pain tore into his left forearm, sending him dipping down into a crouch of defence and recovery. Don swore loudly at the burning that flared but did not wait to inspect the wound, instead pushing himself up from his pre-sprint stance to race on as the red lights winked away.

Exhaust fumes still hung in the air as he skidded around in the vehicle's wake. He ran on through the blue haze while forcing his gun back into its leather and grabbing instead for his radio once more.

"This is Detective Flack. We have an officer down ...need an ambulance at the rear of 127 Stanton... Two suspects fleeing the scene in a red Ford van ….They have a six year old girl hostage...shots fired … in pursuit on foot....van's just turning onto Clinton...They're a block ahead ... I need back up!"

Don panted out the call even as he pounded down the garbage strewn alley. He knew once Mendez got to a main route he'd pick up enough speed to leave him far behind and then there would be no chance of returning the child to her family. In the back of his mind he vaguely wondered whether he should have tried to reach his own car, parked at the front of the building from where she was taken, but he knew if he had, the van would already be lost. He couldn't have hoped to keep tabs on it that way but, as he ran on, he feared this course might also be a lost cause.

Six blocks to the west Mac Taylor and Danny Messer heard Don's calls. Already heading towards the building, they were torn over concern for Hawkes and the possible escape of the abductors when a familiar voice broke through.

"This is CSI Hawkes to control....heard flack's call ... send all units to help in the pursuit, I'm OK...repeat... all units to help pursuit of red van ...Pennsylvania registration ...partial tag PTL."

"This is control ...got that.... All units! All Units! Be advised, officer in urgent need of assistance...in pursuit of red van ...a child abduction....two armed suspects... I repeat, all units in the vicinity of Clinton Street... officer in pursuit on foot of red van, Pennsylvania plates – partial tag PTL ...respond!"

Danny grabbed the radio from the dash as Mac flipped on the siren and lights.

"CSI unit 24, Detectives Taylor and Messer responding...heading East now on 4th"

Don barely heard the crackled answers to his call from control or others. His breaths were harsh now as he dragged in air and forced himself on, stumbling briefly as, again, he turned another corner. The van was 200 meters ahead but moving only slowly, hemmed into a line of cars waiting with New York impatience to pass a delivery truck that took up one side of the road. Horns sounded and shouts of derision and irritation could be heard as two overweight men strained their bulk and their overalls to lift down a pile of large cardboard boxes.

Don felt a flash of hope and brought the radio to his mouth once more.

"This is Flack ...suspects van still on Clinton... held in traffic …" He had no time for any further information.

His panting breaths could be heard all over the police network now. Officers throughout the city cocked their heads to the pursuit, listening in to the unfolding drama being played through their radios. On the streets, cops tilted their ears towards the squawking from their vests, in patrol cars they cast around to check their own positions, to estimate the reality of offering genuine assistance. Those that could, turned towards the chase but a May Day Parade on the lower east side, an animal rights protest outside Macy's and roadworks in The Village had brought the south of city to a snarled up standstill. Frustration mounted with every call and every gasped update from one of their own, running to save a little girl's life.

Flack registered the pounding of blood in his head with every step. His injured arm felt heavy but he deliberately closed off the jolt of pain that shot through it with every footfall.

Another block – just another block.

He'd always kept himself fit. He ran morning or evening, as many times a week as his job would allow. Through central park or a circuit around his own apartment, out for up to an hour at a time, occasionally more. As he raced down the walkway, he consciously sought the mind-set he adopted for those runs, to regulate his breathing better, to find that runners' pleasure that normally comes halfway in, when suddenly the body slips into a natural ease and fluidity.

But this was not a run for pleasure or for fitness, it was for the sake of a six year old girl who'd been chosen and watched and followed and snatched from her own home for the debauched satisfaction of some sick paedophile who would pay top dollar to enjoy her abuse.

No. Flack could not afford to pace himself here and ran on with absolute desperation, shouting at pedestrians who lingered in his path, bellowing his anger at obstacles that blocked him.

"NYPD! Get out my way! Get the hell out the way!"

He caught a glimpse of a man's face peering back at him from the van's open passenger window and then, with a squeal of tyres, the vehicle pulled out from the stationary traffic, side-swiping a yellow cab coming the other way, to drive on amid blaring horns and waving arms. It crossed the four lanes of Houston and pulled away.

"No!" Flack shouted out loud as he saw his chance disappearing. A weight of guilt and anger added to the nausea of his efforts.

He leapt onto the shiny black hood of a chrysler that sat idling in the hold up, sliding sideways over the polished surface with a bump that caused its driver to turn and yell threats after him as he landed on the other side and sped on.

For a moment he thought he'd lost it. Avoiding an opening door, he lost focus and missed the familiar red doors that had been the sole centre of his attention. Slowing only momentarily, he dodged left and right to look around a tow truck rumbling contentedly as it spewed noxious smoke from its noisy tail pipe. Still nothing.

Flack grabbed a hold of the truck's rear mechanism and scrambled up onto the flatbed, running across it with arms held wide to maintain balance as the vehicle continues to inch slowly forwards. A bellow of "What the hell...?" then, over the driver's cab, the red flashed again amongst the swimming blur of street movement.

Up ahead, a New York City bus blocked the way and the van slewed sideways crashing through garbage cans to squeal into a narrow road to the right. Just sometimes there was reason to be thankful for city congestion.

"Van's gone over Houston ...Turning east down an alley..."

Flack leaped off his moving viewpoint, jarring hard on the road surface. He squeezed between vehicles and people, picking up speed through the noise and clamour, wild-eyed and desperate as he held up his hand and brought cars, pedestrians and business to a halt at a two way crossing. The crunch of dented fenders was lost amongst the general chaos.

"I'm gonna lose him....where's my back up? ...Gimme some back up, now!" His voice was ragged, broken up by his movement.

The listening cops recognised his desperation. Recognised that feeling that right there, at that moment, amongst Manhattan's one and a half million people, there just may not be anyone close enough. Coffee cups halted on the way to lips. Conversations ceased. Silence fell in squad rooms, as the family of men and women pictured the scene and waited.

Flack wasn't sure how long he could maintain his pace. His chest heaved and each breath rasped painfully but he was unaware of the noises he made as he charged on. His legs were aching now, reminding him of the nagging need to stretch before vigorous exercise. No chance here. Flack could feel muscles and tendons screaming their protest. With each movement, some part of his consciousness shouted at him to ignore the pain, to shelve it, to dig in. So he did.

Flinging off his suit jacket he dipped his head down and ran on, scattering a group of shoppers who were gawking after the van that had almost mown them down a few moments before, leaving them shouting their outrage at the tall dark haired man who sped after it.

Mac hauled on the steering wheel and Danny hung onto the dash as they weaved in and out of the dawdling cars that surrounded them despite their noise and their lights.

"There!"

Danny pointed and Mac followed his direction as they glimpsed a red van driving on a parallel lane, one building over. They peered across a parking lot and watched as an elderly drunk was sent spinning by a glancing blow from the van's wing mirror.

"There's Flack!"

The van could not drive fast in the narrow space of the lane. Dumpsters lined one side and deserted vehicles presented immovable obstacles to its escape.

Don was still chasing. Still a hundred metres behind.

Mac pulled the steering wheel down hard and sent them into a u-turn that brought all traffic near them to a screaming halt, creating enough of a gap to allow him to press down hard on the accelerator and dash down an opening between a grocery store and a garage.

"This is Detective Messer – we have a visual on the van – heading east behind 3rd….in pursuit."

They pulled out into the lane and could see Flack ahead.

"Christ! Look at him go!" Danny registered that his friend was flagging but showed no sign of stopping .

Mac took a hard right and exploded through a pile of garbage that blocked an open gateway. They bounced over a deserted lot, narrowly avoiding piles of building materials left stacked in readiness for the contractors who now looked on with open mouths, as the black suburban tore past them in a choking cloud of dust.

Crashing out the other end, they looked to the side and saw the red van heading straight towards them. Mac turned his vehicle into its path and was out the door with his gun drawn before they'd even come to a complete halt. Danny spilled out as the van raced towards them. They raised their weapons directly at the looming windscreen and saw the wide eyes of two men staring straight at them. A little girl sat between them, her mouth open in a scream they couldn't hear above the din of the screeching brakes and grinding debris.

The van slid sideways as it stopped a few feet from them and Mendez grabbed the child's long hair, dragging her in front of him as he slid out of the passenger side. His partner ducked down below the dashboard and jumped out behind him. The open door shielded them and the weeping girl was the only person Mac and Danny could see clearly, a gun muzzle pressed down hard onto the top of her skull.

Danny shifted slightly but Mac halted him with a hiss as the abductors moved backwards. It was too dangerous for the child.

"I'll kill her. Stay right there or I'll put a bullet right into her head!"

It was a stand-off.

Flack could see it unfolding as he flew down the lane. He'd registered glimpses of flashing lights from the corner of his eye as he ran. He'd noted the short-cut the car had taken to cut off the escape. Now his vision tunnelled to the tableau ahead of him. His blood was roaring in his head, pulsing though him like an overheating engine. He felt drips of blood trickling over the back of his hand and dropping from his fingertips with every piston like push. His chest felt as though it would explode. But his legs carried him on.

From the front of the vehicle, Danny and Mac saw only a flash of white appear behind the van. Mendez sensed the threat but turned too late. In his backward movement he had left himself exposed and Flack ploughed into him like an NFL linebacker. Two hundred pounds of pumped up muscle, going at a speed measured in fury, he blind-sided Mendez, lifting him up and into the air. Hit low by the force, Mendez was flipped in a virtual one-eighty and thrown into the wall opposite with a whoosh of air that spelt flattened lungs and a crunch that screamed of broken bones.

His partner had time only to gape before registering the barrel of Danny's gun placed firmly against his temple.

"Drop it asshole!" And he did.

Flack fell forwards with his momentum but managed to keep his feet and staggered to a halt above the crumpled body slumped amongst the filth. Doubled over, seized in his attack position, he fought to catch his breath. Drawing great whoops of air into screaming lungs, he glanced sideways, struggling to see past the flashes of white light that blotted and swirled through his vision.

Mac had gathered up the little girl, wrapping his arms around her as he whispered soothing words of comfort and encouragement.

Danny heard sirens approaching as he forced his prisoner onto his knees and cuffed him.

Looking over, he saw Flack watching, even as he remained doubled over, heaving in noisy breaths. His eyes seemed a brighter blue than ever as sweat ran and dripped off his face. His shirt clung to his soaked body, its front a gory mess of blood splatter thrown up from the three inch furrow torn in his arm.

Danny held up his radio and with a wry smile, shouted across. "You want to call it in?"

Flack straightened a little, then stepped back to lean with a thud against the side of the red van. He slid slowly down to sit with legs bent wide apart, arms resting limply on his knees. He shook his bowed head weakly, still unable to speak, still fighting to get his heart rate under control as with shaking fingers he fumbled with his top buttons and tie, dragging it down in a desperate attempt to speed up the air flow.

Danny grinned. "Control, this is Messer....We have apprehended the suspects. I repeat... the suspects have been arrested...We're gonna need a medic...The girl is safe! Please alert her family."

There was a slight pause before a familiar voice crackled. "This is control...good job...and pass our best to Detective Flack."

Within twenty minutes Stella and Lindsay had joined the scene and were busy taking photos of the inside of the van, collecting evidence of previous abductions, previous abuse. It was the end of an investigation that had far reaching and devastating implications for at least four other families. Mendez had been loaded into an ambulance with suspected broken ribs and concussion and his accomplice was being driven away just as a female officer arrived with the child's hysterical mother. Amid her tears, she turned to the group of officers who'd gathered and thanked them over and over again as she clutched her daughter to her side, smothering her with kisses.

"You sure he shouldn't go the hospital?" Mac was watching Flack as a medic wrapped a thick dressing around the now stitched gash on his arm. He sat on the steps of the ambulance, his face tight with pain, pale beneath the flush and now drying perspiration of his exertion.

"I'm fine Mac. A little light headed maybe, but I don't think that's the blood loss!" His voice was still a little shaky but Don grinned up at the concern of his friends and started to rise slowly before sitting back again with a groan. His limbs felt leaden now, with every muscle protesting. The dull ache in his head was building to a throb that matched the one in his arm as he clutched at the second water bottle that he'd already drained.

Danny held out a hand to help his friend up. "You know, NYPD is always looking for extra runners for the marathon team ...I reckon you'd be a cinch this year."

Don shook his head and winced. " No way, I think I pulled something!" They laughed together as he straightened up like an old man unfolding from a recliner.

"Now, can someone please give me a lift – officer in need of assistance here!"

**END**

**Hope you'll forgive any NY street number/name errors – I did consult a map!**

**Let me know what you think!**


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